


let the river run dry

by queenjameskirk



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, OT7, cabin in the woods au, everyone is each other's soulmate ok thats just how it is, look i hAD to make them play spin the bottle im sorry i cant help myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 13:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenjameskirk/pseuds/queenjameskirk
Summary: "The lake is too still.Mike walks across the dock, his boots scuffing against the wood, and puts his hands in his pockets. The water is surrounded on all sides by forest, almost unnaturally lush and green, and although the wind rustles the leaves of the trees, the surface of the water is still. It’s like green glass, perfectly reflecting the blue sky and fluffy clouds, and Mike narrows his eyes, leaning forward just a bit to peer into the water.The clear water holds the kind of peace you can’t trust. It feels like a mirage, a smokescreen."The Losers Club take a vacation to the Uris family cabin.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58
Collections: Poly Losers Club Fic Exchange





	let the river run dry

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the Poly Losers Club fic exchange! im posting part one now and will have part two up shortly, just after a few quick edits! writing for a deadline is NOT one of my strong suits and i hate to post in two parts but it is unfortunately necessary in this case. 
> 
> my prompt from @coveffinder was for an 18-early 20s Losers Club road trip! things got away from me, as they often do, and it turned into a little bit more of a cabin-in-the-woods style horror story, so hopefully they are cool with that! it has been beta'ed by me and me alone so any mistakes you find are my fault! hope you enjoy!!!

_drive your son like a railroad spike_  
_into the water, let it pull him under_  
_don't you lift him, let him drown alive_  
_the good lord speaks like rolling thunder_

_bottom of the river by delta rae_

They pick Mike up last, still early enough in the morning that the rising sun is just starting to cast pink clouds across the sky. The gray van pulls down the long winding driveway to the Hanlon farm, gravel dust blowing up into the air and tires crackling as Stan turns the wheel and comes to a stop in front of where Mike’s standing. 

Mike tosses his duffle bag in the back of the Uris family van, already piled high with rolled sleeping bags and backpacks. There are plastic bags from the grocery store overflowing with snacks, two boxes that are labeled _ air mattresses, _and a big red cooler. 

“Good morning!” Ben says as Mike climbs in the door, grabbing the last empty seat next to him. Bill, Eddie, and Richie are squeezed together in the back row, Richie already passed out with his head on Eddie’s shoulder and his mouth wide open. Bill waves from his spot against the window, and Mike smiles back. Beverly is sitting shotgun, her chucks propped up on the dash, and Mike buckles his seatbelt as Stan looks at him in the rearview mirror. 

“All set?” Stan asks, and Mike smiles and nods. “Alright, let’s get on the road then,” Stan says, and then he’s pulling a u-turn and taking them down the road, the Hanlon farm growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. 

Mike has never been on a vacation before. 

He can’t ever remember leaving Derry before, not even as a baby. He thinks his mom and dad must have traveled before, remembers hearing stories from his dad about his time overseas with the army, but his own feet have never set foot outside the Derry city limits. It’s a shame, he thinks, but a necessary evil. There’s just so much to be done on the farm, never ending chores and responsibilities, and Mike isn’t really bitter about having to stay in Derry while the rest of his friends get to go to college, but he isn’t exactly happy either. 

It’s the summer after their first year apart, all of them, and Mike has been waiting to see his friends for months. They’ve kept in touch for the most part, phone calls and the seldom handwritten letter from Stanley, but Mike is sure there’s so much more for them to tell him about. He wants to hear all about the college experience, from partying to studying and everything in between. 

“School sucks,” Richie pipes up from the backseat when Mike asks Ben how classes are going, and that’s about what Mike expected. 

“Aw, it’s not so bad, Rich,” Beverly argues, turning around in her seat to face them. “I love almost all of my classes,” she says to Mike, and Richie snorts. 

“Yeah, well some of us have real majors, Ms. Fashion Merchandising,” Richie sneers, and Eddie elbows him. 

“You’re a fucking communications major,” he says, and Richie turns to him in shock, as if he’s been betrayed. 

“And what about it, Eds?” 

“It’s a bullshit major, that’s all I’m saying,” 

“You’re doing fucking economics, like that’s any better!” 

“For your information,” Eddie starts, and that’s how Mike knows it’s all over. There’s no stopping him when he’s on a tangent. “I’m double majoring in economics and statistics which is actually great for me because it means instead of taking additional courses after getting my bachelors, I can directly apply for an actuarial body,”

“I don’t know what any of those words mean,” Richie drones back, and Mike catches Bill roll his eyes. Ben is already tuned out, slipping his headphones on and closing his eyes, and Mike sees Beverly turn around to face the road once more. 

  
“It means, douchebag, that you’ll be cleaning the bathrooms in my office building someday,” Eddie says, and then he and Richie are off to the races. There’s something about Eddie’s future sounding duller than a rusty spoon, and then Eddie calls Richie a slacker, and Mike tries to tune them out but they’ve had years to perfect their craft and there’s no ceasing the bickering when they’ve started. 

There’s finally a crack about clown college that has Mike flinching despite himself, and that’s when Stan spins around in his seat. 

  
“Do I need to turn this car around?” he shouts. He’s still going sixty on the highway, yellow lines shooting past the tires, and Mike wishes he would turn his eyes back to the road. Eddie clamps his mouth shut, and Richie rolls his eyes before responding. 

  
“Sorry, dad,” he says sarcastically and Mike is afraid it’s going to start another fight but Stan just mutters “No you’re not,” to himself before turning back to the front. It does the trick, Eddie and Richie turning their heads opposite directions, and Mike catches Bill’s eye. Bill mimes giving Mike a stern talking-to, wagging his finger and furrowing his eyebrows in what Mike assumes is supposed to be an impression of Stan, and Mike huffs out a laugh before turning back to face the front himself. 

By the time they’re signalling off the main road, Mike is itching to be out of the van. His legs are stiff from being cramped up for hours and there’s a low level headache throbbing behind his eyes. Stan takes them through winding roads, some paved and some gravel, all lined with big trees that block the morning sun. Mike lays his head against the window, the vibrations making his teeth click in his head, and tries to let the soothing feel of gravel under tires lull him to sleep. 

They arrive at their destination not twenty minutes later. 

The dirt driveway to the cabin is long, dust kicking up behind them, and at one point Stan slows the van to a crawl to pass over a puddle that covers the entire road, tires sliding through thick mud. Mike wonders when the last time someone came down this road, seeing as there are no tracks through the dirt, as if it’s been untouched since last summer. 

The trails winds and loops and then finally they’re pulling up in front of a relatively large cabin, with a small lean-to garage on the side. Stan forgoes the shed, instead just parking the van right out in front of the house. It’s a scramble to get unbuckled and out of the van, Richie pushing Ben’s shoulders to hurry him, complaining about his need to piss. 

“Jesus, Rich,” Eddie says as Richie breaks free from the car and just runs straight into the woods. “At least use the bathroom like a normal person,” 

“No time!” Richie shouts back, and Mike turns away so he doesn’t have to watch him unbuckle his pants and pee in a bush. 

The air is clearer this far out of town and Mike takes in a deep breath. It smells like rain and wood, like the freshly chopped lumber that Mike carries inside to use in the wood stove on the farm. There’s an underlying hint of decay, the scent of fallen leaves decomposing, but Mike sort of likes the change of pace from Derry air. 

“Alright, lets unload,” Stan says, hefting open the back of the van. Mike grabs his own duffle and then helps Ben heft down the cooler, which he starts rolling toward the front porch steps. They all grab an armful of grocery bags, Eddie balancing the two air mattresses on top of his rolling suitcase. 

Stan unlocks the front door to the cabin with his duffle slung over his shoulder, digging the keys out of the pocket of his shorts. He swings the door inward, letting morning sunshine in with him, and then disappears into the dark. 

Mike follows Bill inside, ducking his head against the relatively low door frame, and peers around. 

The cabin is nice, if a little dusty.

There’s a small kitchen at the back of the house, with pots and pans on a rack hanging over a 1970s style breakfast island. The living room has two plaid couches facing one another, an overstuffed armchair between them directly across from a dingy fireplace. Stan flicks on the overhead light and Mike is appalled to see multiple stuffed deer heads hanging on the far wall. There’s a large picture window across from the fireplace, with tartan curtains that hang all the way to the floor. Stan swings them open, and Mike can see into the forest. The cabin’s backyard is maybe twenty feet at most, and then the overgrown grass descends into densely packed trees. Everything smells a little old, a little musty. 

“Alright, there’s three bedrooms, but someone’s gonna have to sleep on the other air mattress,” Stan explains, leading them down the hall. He points out the master bedroom for Beverly, with a queen sized bed and its own bathroom attached. He takes Eddie, Richie, and Ben to the next room, where there are two twin beds with a night stand in between them. 

“I’ll take the floor,” Ben offers, and Eddie and Richie do not fight him. Stan tosses him the other boxed air mattress and Ben immediately starts to set it up, unrolling the plastic sheet and plugging in the air pump. Richie tries to start talking over the whirr of the small engine, saying something to Eddie about him taking the bed closest to the door in case a murderer sneaks in, and the remaining three of them move on before the yelling starts. The final bedroom is at the end of the hall, the back room of the cabin. 

“I’m gonna use the restroom,” Bill says as they pass the only full bath, and Stan and Mike continue on. 

The last room has another queen bed in it, with a wool comforter and two tartan pillows. Mike swallows, looking dubiously at it, and Stanley shoulders past him to drop his bags on the ground in the corner near a dresser. 

“You and Bill are gonna have to share,” Stanley says as he unrolls the air mattress onto the ground. Mike hasn’t shared a bed with any of them since they were kids, when Bill and Eddie used to sleep over and they’d go headsie-footsies on the couch in the downstairs basement, curled up by the woodstove. It’s been years since then though, and things have changed. 

“It’s cool,” Mike says, “I can sleep on the couch or something,” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re sharing,” Stan says, and then he’s turning on his own air pump and drowning out anything Mike was going to say in response.

Mike concedes, throwing his duffle down on the bed and coughing as it kicks up a big cloud of dust. Mike leans over to unzip his duffle and grab his toiletry bag to move to the bathroom when Bill quietly slips into the room, backpack on his shoulders. He blinks when he sees the single bed, but he doesn’t hesitate to step forward and swing his bag off his back. 

“Careful, it’s dusty,” Mike warns, shouting to be heard over the air pump, and Bill gingerly drops his bag onto the mattress. It too generates a cloud of dust and Mike chuckles as Bill swats the air in front of his face, wheezing. 

They don’t take long to settle in, just half heartedly unpacking while Stan makes his bed on the floor, and then they’re all congregating in the living area. 

“What first?” Beverly asks, her feet propped up on the kitchen island. Her barstool is leaning precariously back and Mike catches Stan eyeing her worriedly every time she rocks forward and back, but her balance is impeccable and Mike doubts she’s going to tip over. 

“I wanna go swimming,” Richie says. He’s had his head poked in the fridge for minutes, already rooting around in the snacks they brought for the whole weekend, and Eddie slaps his hand away as he comes out and reaches for a handful of the trail mix in Eddie’s lap. 

“There’s a lake down the way,” Stan says. He’s going through the cupboards methodically, cataloging the clean dishes and making sure they packed bottle openers and matches and flashlights. He pulls a first aid kit out of the cupboard above the island and rifles through it, counting bandages and checking for alcohol wipes.

“Right on!” Richie whoops, and he leans across to hold his hand up to Bill for a high five. The boy laughs as he complies, slapping Richie’s hand hard enough to ring out. Beverly hops off her barstool and makes for her bedroom, throwing over her shoulder that she’s going to change into her swimsuit. 

Mike didn’t bring a swimsuit. He doesn’t think he owns one, at least not one that would still fit him. It’s been years since his parents took him swimming at the public pool, and they always just wore their boxers when they went to the quarry as kids. He’s a little embarrassed at his own lack of foresight, but then resigns himself to just swimming in his boxers. It’ll be fine; he did it all the time with them before. 

“I’m gonna get a head start,” Mike calls, walking toward the front door, and Bill hums in response. Eddie and Richie are already racing to their room, Ben on their heels, and Mike doesn’t want them to notice him not changing. He decides he needs a little alone time anyway, after such a long car ride surrounded by so many people. 

“Which way’s the lake?” Mike calls over his shoulder, holding open the screen door, and Stan pokes his head around the corner of the hallway. He points down to a trail on the left of the cabin, a clearing through the trees that winds and dips. 

“Just follow that trail,” he commands, and Mike nods. He lets the screen door slam behind himself and then sets off down the trail, boots scuffing in the dirt. 

Dirt is familiar, at home beneath his shoes. He likes the smell of it, reminds him of long harvest days with mud under his fingernails and dust on his jeans. It smells like helping his dad fix the tractor, wind rustling the corn stalks around them and ruffling Mike’s hair. 

One bad days, dirt reminds him of Neibolt. Mike tries not to let today be a bad day. 

He walks the winding trail with his eyes scanning the woods, checking out all the different kinds of trees. He spots a deer just a ways out, the first bit of life he’s seen yet other than the birds that flutter through the woods, and he slows to a stop in order not to scare it. They get deer around the farm sometimes, but Mike has never seen one at home in the woods. He takes his next step carefully and quietly, but there’s a sound like a snapping branch somewhere to his left and the deer’s head snaps up. It spots Mike standing still and it doesn’t hesitate before bounding off further into the woods. Mike turns to see what made the sound that alerted the deer, expecting it to be Eddie or maybe Ben caught up to him, but there’s nothing. He’s alone, and he holds his breath listening for another sound, but the only thing he hears are chirping birds and buzzing insects. 

Mike shakes his head, laughing at himself for being so jumpy and forgetting that nature has its own soundtrack, and he continues down to the lake. Finally, after a slight left turn, the path opens up. There’s a small sandbar that edges the water, with a dock that leads out about fifteen feet over the lapping lake. Mike wanders down to the shore, breathing in the scent of freshwater. 

The lake is too still. 

Mike walks across the dock, his boots scuffing against the wood, and puts his hands in his pockets. The water is surrounded on all sides by forest, almost unnaturally lush and green, and although the wind rustles the leaves of the trees, the surface of the water is still. It’s like green glass, perfectly reflecting the blue sky and fluffy clouds, and Mike narrows his eyes, leaning forward just a bit to peer into the water. 

The clear water holds the kind of peace you can’t trust. It feels like a mirage, a smokescreen. 

Mike bends further, trying to see past the glass and into the murky water. There are no bugs buzzing across the surface, no water gliders flitting around. Mike can’t see a single fish, not even a piece of seaweed or algae floating just under the placid surface. 

It’s like calm before the storm; inhalation before a scream.

Mike doesn’t want to get any closer but there’s something drawing him in, begging him to dip his toes in and get sucked down. Mike blinks his eyes and is one moment away from saying fuck it, giving in to the pull in his chest and diving in, when the sounds of slapping feet echo down the trail. 

“CANNONBALL!” Richie shouts, and Mike straightens just in time to dodge out of the way as Richie comes tearing down in nothing but his boxers. He leaps gracelessly off the end of the dock, his limbs flailing out in the air, and the split second before he hits the water is peaceful. The sun reflects off Richie’s pale, freckled back, and he looks like he’s flying. Mike grins as the moment ends, Richie slapping the surface and sinking immediately before resurfacing in his own wake with his curls plastered to his forehead. 

“God, I cannot imagine what diseases are living in that lake,” Eddie chatters as he follows down the trail, a towel slung over his shoulder. Beverly has her arm linked in his, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose, and she laughs. They’re each carrying a lawnchair on their back, and Mike sees that Richie must have tossed two in the direction of the sandbar when he came running down, because the chairs are half buried in the sand from the force of his throw.

“Currently, the only disease living there is named Richie Tozier,” she says, and then she’s pulling her dress over her head and dropping it on the edge of the dock. She’s got her bathing suit on underneath, a red lifeguard one piece that proudly proclaims Portland Public Swimming Pool. Mike wonders if she got the suit because she works there or if she stole it somehow. Either way, it looks great on her. “Move aside, Trashmouth, I’m coming in!” she shouts, and then she too is running past Mike and diving into the water. 

“Hey, Mike, you wanna come sit with me on the beach or are you gonna go swim with those two fools?” Eddie asks, gesturing over to the sandbar. He’s already started setting up the chairs, sticking their legs in the sand sturdily. Mike looks back to Richie and Beverly who have already begun a splash fight, and then he shrugs.  
  


“I didn’t think to pack a swimsuit,” he says, and Eddie frowns. 

“I’m sure you could borrow one, if you want,” he says, and that’s when Stan, Bill, and Ben finally come tumbling down the trail. Ben is carrying the cooler, a big red Coleman that Mike remembers him buying on sale at the camping supply store. Stan is fully dressed, his polo tucked into khaki shorts and a pair of expensive looking hiking boots on his feet. The boots are well-maintained, but they don’t look brand new, and Mike wonders if they’re the shoes he wears when he goes bird watching. 

“Hey, Bill,” Eddie calls, and the boy in question looks up at him. “Did you bring an extra suit? Mike needs to borrow one,” 

  
“No, it’s okay,” Mike starts, but Bill is already nodding. He shoulders off his backpack, dropping it next to Beverly’s discarded dress. He’s wearing jeans and his old converse, a blue pair that are wearing down at the soles and whose laces have been replaced twice already. 

“Yeah, let me go g-grab it,” Bill says, and before Mike can insist that it’s fine if he swims in his boxers, he’s already taking off back up the trail. 

  
“Come and join us, Ben!” Beverly yells from the water, putting both of her hands on Richie’s shoulders and trying to force him under the surface, and Mike looks up at the trail at Bill’s retreating back. He’s already almost halfway back to the cabin, and Mike waits a moment longer before taking off after him. 

His boots kick up dust as he jogs after Bill, kicking sticks into the brush. Bill turns when he hears Mike coming, and he grins as Mike slows to a stop. 

“Hey,” Bill says, and Mike greets him back as they continue up the path. It’s early enough in the afternoon that it’s still pleasantly cool, and the trees do wonders to shade them from the beating sun. Mike stuffs his hands back in his pockets and looks out into the forest. He’s used to nature, has walked the fields of the farm enough that he feels more than comfortable spending his time outside, but this is a different kind of nature. He’s used to wide-open fields, swaying prairie grass tickling his knees and sunshine beating down on his neck. The forest is packed tightly, trees bending and twisting together, and Mike can’t see into the woods further than fifty yards or so. There could be anything out there, he thinks, and it reminds him of long rows of corn stalks in the middle of summer, when they’re eight feet tall and lush green. 

_ “Don’t go into the fields alone, Mike,” _ he remembers his ma telling him, pointing at the swaying stalks. _ “You’ll get lost and Pa and I will have to come searching for you,” _

Mike thinks it’d be easy to get lost in the woods too, when every downed log and moss-covered boulder look exactly the same to him. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” Bill asks, and Mike turns to look at him. Bill’s hair is red in this light, copper reflecting, and his eyes are sky blue. 

“Nothing,” Mike responds quickly, and Bill quirks his lips at the corner. 

“That so?” Bill says, and Mike blows out a breath. 

“I’ve just never been so deep in the woods before,” Mike says, and Bill’s smile drifts away, though his eyes stay soft. 

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Bill says, and then he’s looking out into the forest too. “It’s weird to be surrounded by so much life but f-feel so alone,” 

“Yeah,” Mike hums, the cabin coming into view just around the next bend. Mike feels the hairs on the back of his next stand up. He turns his head, expecting to catch someone watching him, but there’s nothing but trees and bushes and birds for as far as his eye can see. He turns back to the cabin and the goosebumps continue down his arms and over his back. There’s an open window on the far side of the cabin and Mike can see the curtains blowing out into the breeze, like a blue-checked flag. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Bill continues, “Just wait til we light a buh-bonfire tonight, you’ll love c-camping, I promise,” 

Bill smiles again, and the goosebumps go away. Mike blinks and shakes his head, feeling silly for his split little second of panic. They round the corner, passing by the open window, and Mike can see the van still parked in the driveway, sides covered in dust from the gravel road. 

“Huh,” Bill says as he climbs the porch steps a few feet ahead of Mike. “Guess we forgot to close the door behind us,” 

The screen door is shut but the actual front door is standing wide open, an open invitation. 

“Strange,” Mike breathes, but Bill is already inside. Mike follows him all the way to their room, where Bill is rifling through his open backpack. 

“I know I brought an extra, I just can’t--” Bill says, digging through the neatly folded clothes. “Here,” he says, and then he’s throwing a rolled up pair of shorts at Mike. Mike holds them up to himself, expecting them to be far too small, but they seem okay. He hesitates a moment, wondering if he should just change in front of Bill or if he should leave and go to the bathroom. Bill is standing there expectantly, like he has no problem if Mike strips in front of him, or more likely that he hasn’t even noticed the tension that’s settled over the room. 

“I’ll just--” Mike says finally, moving towards the door, and Bill jolts, laughing. 

“Sorry, shit,” he says, “I’ll go outside while you c-change.” He closes the door behind him, leaving Mike in the bedroom with the shorts still held limply in his hand. Mike strips quickly, kicking off his boots and tugging down his jeans. He hops around on one foot as he pulls off his socks, and then he’s slipping into Bill’s shorts. 

They fit alright, if not a little tight around the thighs, and they’re a little shorter than Mike is used to, but he thinks they’ll work just fine. He dithers for a moment before stuffing his feet back into his unlaced boots, cursing himself for not bringing a pair of tennis shoes with him. He figured they’d be doing more hiking than partying on the beach, that’s all. When he opens the door, Bill isn’t on the other side. Mike walks down the hall, boots thundering on the hardwood, and finds Bill in the kitchen.

Bill is standing at the sink, the window over the backsplash open and the blue-checked curtain drifting in and out with the wind. 

“I’m set,” Mike says, and Bill turns. His eyebrows are furrowed, like he’s been lost in concentration, and the lines on his forehead smooth as he looks Mike up and down and grins. 

“Looks guh-good, Mikey,” he says, and Mike tries not to blush but he can’t help it. His face heats and he has this strange urge to cover himself, but it’s just Bill, isn’t it? But then he thinks about Bill’s eyes roaming over his skin, so much more uncovered than normally is, and he flushes further. 

“Shall we?” Mike makes himself stutter out, and Bill smiles and nods. He turns away from the sink and moves to walk out the front door. Mike pauses, looking back at the open window, and finds himself moving toward it without thinking. 

“One second,” he breathes. 

The window gives a perfect view into the woods, where rows and rows of trees paint a rolling picture. Mike feels a cool breeze drift in, pushing the curtain towards him, and the goosebumps raise over his skin again. There’s a cold sweat on his forehead that wasn’t there a moment ago, and suddenly Mike has a feeling like he really wishes he’d have laced his boots up. It’s like fight or flight are dueling in his chest, his heart picking up its beat. 

Mike pulls the window shut, holding the blue curtain to the side as he latches the lock. The bad feeling drifts away, his skin going back to normal, and Mike shakes off the remaining sickness in his stomach. Then he bends down and ties his shoes tight. 

Bill is waiting on the front porch for him when he’s done, sitting in the wicker chair with his feet propped up on a matching side table, and Mike pulls the door shut behind himself. The screen door bangs against the frame and Mike jumps down the stairs. He breaks into a run in an attempt to work off some of his weird nervous energy, and Bill’s head snaps up as his boots kick up gravel and rocks. 

“Wait, what?” Bill asks, and Mike grins to himself. 

“Race ya!” Mike calls over his shoulder, already far enough ahead that he doesn’t quite catch Bill’s response. 

Bill chases him down the trail, laughing loudly, and by the time they’re close enough to hear the sounds of their friends, Mike can feel Bill at his back. He half wants to slow, to let Bill pass by so he can watch the sunlight bounce off Bill’s hair as he runs, but there’s also a part of him that doesn’t want to look behind himself. 

It must be more paranoia, he figures, just regular dumb fear that’s keeping him from turning to find out what is making the thundering footsteps behind him. He knows it’s Bill, could recognize that hitching laughing breath anywhere, but there’s a small part of his mind that is screaming. _ Run _ , it says, _ keep running and don’t turn back _. 

The problem is that Mike knows now. He knows about the absolute evil that can survive in this world, the gnawing oblivion that awaits them all. He’s stayed in Derry to keep track of It, to catalogue and learn all he can because there’s still this little part of him that is so so sure It’s going to come back. He doesn’t know how, or when, but he’s positive it isn’t over. There’s still too much evil and pain in Derry for it to be over. 

  
He’s not sure if the rest of them can feel it, the thrumming drumbeat under their skin that tells them to keep fighting, to stay on their toes. He thinks it must be because he’s an outsider that he feels the draw, must be because they were all friends before they knew him. He wonders if It is keeping him there because he always has been and always will be the outcast. 

There’s the other side of the coin too. Mike remembers what it sounded like when Henry Bowers hit the bottom of the well, the wet crunch of his body banking off the stone sides. There’s a guilt in him, bone-deep and swallowing, and Mike doesn’t know how he could possibly continue his life as normal after what he did. It’s the other half of why he hasn’t left home yet: the guilt. Beverly and Stan have seen the Deadlights, Mike knows that, but he doesn’t think they know the intimate truth of death quite the same as he does.

There’s a whistling sound at his back, like something very fast and very large is about to pass by him, and Mike whips his head around. There’s nothing, just trees and Bill, who is steadily gaining on him with a weightless grin on his face. Mike turns back forward and almost misses the giant tree root sticking out of the ground in front of him. He manages to hop it at the last minute, boots hitting the trail with a crunching sound, and they’re just one turn away from being back at the lake. Mike slows just enough for Bill to catch him, laughing weakly when Bill shoulder-checks him. 

“Finally!” Richie hollers when they emerge from the trees together, out of breath and slightly sweating. “Dr. K and I need two more to join in on our epic battle of strength!” 

“We’re too old for chicken fights,” Bill wheezes, leaning his hands on his knees and dropping his head between his legs. Beverly is out of the water, her dress pulled back over her swimsuit, and she’s reading a magazine next to Ben. Stanley is fiddling with the radio, turning the knob in a futile attempt to find a station that isn’t just static. 

“Now ah, I say, ah, you’re never too old for fun!” Richie calls back in the Southern Gentleman voice, and Mike rolls his eyes. He’s hot from the run, shirt sticking to his back uncomfortably, and he pulls it over his head while trying to kick off his boots at the same time. 

“Alright, I’m in,” Mike says, and then he runs down the dock to dive into the lake. The water is cold, fucking _ cold _ for how much sunshine it’s already gotten today, and Mike immediately regrets his policy of never testing water before jumping in. He swims lazily over to Richie and Eddie, teeth chattering slightly, and rubs the water out of his eyes. 

“You get used to the cold after a while,” Eddie promises. 

“I like the shorts,” Richie says offhandedly, and Mike tries, really tries, not to look as embarrassed as he feels. “Always knew you’d be the first to get into Denbrough’s pants,” 

“Shut up, Richie,” he mumbles, and Richie guffaws loudly. “Are we doing this or what?” Mike asks, changing the subject, and then Richie is cupping his mouth in his hands to yell back up to the shore. 

“Stanley! Get that behind out here!” he shouts. Mike watches Stan cease his fiddling, standing from a crouch to peer out at them. Mike can’t quite make out the expression on his face from here, but he has a good idea of what it would look like. 

“Not a chance,” Stan yells back, and Richie splashes as hard as he can in his direction. 

“Come on!” Richie calls back, “Mike needs a partner!” 

“Fine,” Stan says after a moment of thought, and Mike watches as he starts to unbuckle his belt, stepping out of his hiking boots. He has to untuck his polo to get it over his head, and Richie whoops when he finally wiggles out of his khaki shorts to reveal a blue bathing suit. Stan walks calmly to the edge of the dock and then jumps in, holding his nose shut. When he surfaces his hair is perfectly flat, cupping the sides of his face and dripping over his cheeks. He flips his hair off his forehead and then paddles toward them carefully, maybe on purpose splashing Richie a few times. 

They move closer to the shore, to a point where Mike and Richie can both sink their feet into the slippery lakebed, but still far enough out that they can splash and make a ruckus without bothering their friends on the sand. 

“Climb on, Dr. K,” Richie commands, patting his own shoulders, and Eddie groans before letting Richie manhandle him onto his back, his thighs tight around Richie’s head. Mike holds a hand out to Stan to help him, but Stan just gracefully steps on Mike’s knee and then hoists himself up, settling right on Mike’s shoulders with ease. He’s lighter than Mike expected, but still heavier than when they were kids. Mike does his fair share of lifting on the farm, arms toned from summers hauling hay bales back and forth across the barn, so it’s no problem to support Stan’s weight. He settles his hands on Stan’s calves, holding him tight to his body, and watches as Richie adjusts his grip on Eddie to mirror Mike’s. 

“On three,” Eddie says, “One... two...” and then Mike feels Richie try to kick one of his legs out from under him. He falters just a bit, and then it’s on. 

Eddie holds his own, but Stan has at least two inches on him, and although Richie tries to fight dirty there’s no pushing Mike around. Mike kicks at Richie’s knee and holds tight to Stanley as he pushes his entire weight onto Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie falls into the water, his thighs gripped tight enough around Richie that he pulls the other man down with him, and when he comes back up he’s laughing. 

“Alright, no fair, I want Mike this time,” Eddie says, swimming over. Mike looks up to Stan, who shrugs before climbing down off Mike’s shoulders. 

“No way, betrayed by my own Eds!” Richie calls, and Stan walks over to him. 

“Get over it, Trashmouth, I’m gonna help you win this time,” he says, and then he’s whipping a leg over Richie’s head and plopping himself down. Richie stumbles, hands coming up to grip Stan’s thighs, and Stan grabs a handful of Richie’s hair. “Now, plant your damn feet and let’s get these fools!” Stan lets go of Richie’s hair, pushing his head forward in the process, and Mike watches as Richie swallows shakily, looking ruffled. 

“It’s on,” Eddie says under his breath, reaching a hand out. Mike grabs hold and tries to swing him around, but Eddie is a lot heavier than he remembers. It takes an extra bit of strength to get Eddie up over his shoulders, and when he settles down Mike is shocked to find he’s heavier than Stan. Mike grabs his calves and they’re muscular, almost more so than his own, and Mike remembers something about Eddie running for his college’s track team. He’s dense like an athlete now, and when Mike looks up during the match to watch Stan and Eddie grab at one another, Eddie’s biceps are clearly defined. 

Mike is distracted enough by this new version of Eddie he’s seeing that he can’t manage to block the next kick Richie sends his way, and his knee buckles. They don’t go all the way down, just dip a little before Mike can get his foot back under himself, and the new angle gives Eddie an in to tip Stanley off balance. By the time Mike has righted himself, the others have gone down and Eddie is leaning down to whoop directly into his ear. 

“Mike’s the secret weapon!” Eddie shouts, and then Richie’s tackling them into the water. Eddie’s thighs are still around his head and he brings his arms up to protect his head from an accidental kick as Eddie flails. Richie is around somewhere, and Mike surfaces to find him standing triumphantly with his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, dunking him under. Mike sneaks up and worms his arm around to grab Richie around the chest and then he pulls him away from Eddie, spinning so he can get the leverage to flip Richie over and send him tumbling into the water. 

They tustle for a few minutes more, but Mike is beat from the combination of the run back from the cabin and the two grown men he had on his back, and he calls uncle while Stan has him in a headlock. He leaves the three of them to continue wrestling, floating lazily back toward the shore. He crawls over the sand, mud sticking to his legs and hands, and makes it all the way up next to Beverly before he collapses onto his back. The sand is warm, sunlight reflecting off the grains and soaking up the heat, and Mike slowly lets his breathing drift back to normal. 

“Have fun?” Beverly asks, turning to look at him. Her sunglasses are perched on her head, holding back the front of her hair. She’s letting it grow longer again, not nearly close to down her back like it was when they were kids, but it’s at least at a stylish bob length, almost brushing her freckled shoulders. 

“I remember it being less tiring when we were kids,” Mike says, and Ben laughs. He’s got a book cracked open over his knees, some trashy romance novel with a half-naked man cradling a woman on the cover. His own sunglasses are over his eyes, balanced on his faintly sunburned nose. Ben looks different too now, Mike notices, leaner and more tanned. He’s cut his hair out of his eyes, and he pushes it up over his forehead every few moments. 

Ben’s still wearing a shirt, a button down that brushes the top of his shorts, but Mike can tell his body’s changed since he went off to college. He’s always been broad, especially since junior year when he and Mike both joined the football team and were placed on the defensive line, but there’s an edge to him now, cheekbones cutting across his face. Mike isn’t sure if he likes it, because it doesn’t quite feel like Haystack at all. He seems happy enough, smiling easily as Beverly and cracking jokes with Bill, but Mike is worried for him. It isn’t healthy to drop weight that quickly, surely, Mike thinks, and he wonders if the rest of them have noticed. 

He’s pulled out of his musing by Bill tossing him a towel. 

“You’re shivering,” Bill says when Mike tilts his head in confusion, and yeah Mike notices it now. He’s got gooseflesh all over his skin, and he thanks Bill as he wraps the towel tight around himself. 

Eddie and Stan meander their way back in from the lake not too long after him, Eddie slicking his dark hair back out of his face while Stan unpacks the towels from his backpack. They dry off quickly, complaining about the cold air, and Mike slips his shirt back on over his torso. 

“You got beers in that cooler, Haystack?” Richie calls, floating on his back. He hasn’t given up on swimming yet, declaring the rest of them party poopers for leaving him on his lonesome, but Mike thinks he must be getting cold if he’s asking about alcohol. 

“That would be illegal,” Ben responds, but then he’s grinning and leaning over to flip the hatch and prop the lid open. Mike catches a glimpse of at least a twelve pack of cheap beer resting among the ice, condensation dripping off the glass. Richie whoops at the sight and starts swimming for shore, flipping his wet hair out of his eyes like a dog. He walks up the shore and Mike watches as Richie stretches his arms above his head, leaning his head side to side and tapping on it to get water out of his ears. 

Much has happened in that year between high school and now, and Mike is still struggling to catch up with the realization that it seems _ all _ of his friends have changed a lot as time has gone on. Ben definitely has had the most drastic transformation, but apparently he and Eddie aren’t the only ones who got dealt a winning hand by second puberty. Richie was one goofy looking kid but he’s lean and tall now, his torso finally caught up with his gangly limbs, and the lake water runs in rivulets over his barely-there abs and follows the dark trail of hair that leads from his belly button into his swimsuit. 

Mike blushes when he catches himself tracking the beads of water as they dip into Richie’s waistband, and he turns his head quickly away as Richie gets closer. The problem is when he looks away from Richie he ends up catching eyes with Bill, and Bill is staring right at him. Mike feels caught, his oogling of Richie having been so apparently obvious that Bill, fucking _ Bill _, noticed. He blushes further, tucking his chin into his chest, and flicks his eyes back out over the lake. 

There’s a cool breeze coming in from the west. Mike is glad for his dry shirt, because the wind ruffles his still-wet hair and makes him shiver once more. The surface of the lake ripples, sloshing against the legs of the dock and running up over the sand. 

Suddenly there’s a bottle sitting in the cup holder of his lawnchair, and Mike turns to see Beverly smirking at him. He grabs the beer and lets Ben crack it open for him, foam rising to the top, and Mike puts his mouth over the rim before it can overflow. 

He hasn’t drank since the Losers left town, no one around to share a few with, and Mike grimaces at the taste. Richie doesn’t seem as hesitant, downing at least half of his first beer in one swallow. 

“Slow d-down, Rich,” Bill says, but Richie just burps in response. 

“A toast!” Bev declares, thrusting her beer out, and they all scramble to gather round and clink their bottles against each other. 

“Cheers,” Stan says, deadpan, and Mike laughs as he tips his head back and takes a healthy drink. The beer warms him somewhat, filling his stomach, and it’s not long before Mike is feeling it rush to his head. Ben hands them all lunchmeat sandwiches from the cooler, but it doesn’t fill Mike up enough to stop him from getting pleasantly drunk off a single beer. It seems they’re all in the same boat, Richie and Bill giggling as they cover Eddie in sand, building a castle over his buried chest. Stanley finally finds a station that’s playing pop music and he starts to hum along under his breath, which Beverly notices. 

“Is this Semi-Charmed Life?” she laughs, and Stanley blushes. “I love this song!” she exclaims, and then she’s joining in on singing, voice clear and bright. It’s not long before they’re all joining in, even Mike able hitting the doot-doots in between his laughing. Then Richie is popping open another beer, challenging Eddie to a chug-off. Bill tells them the story of his first keg-stand and Ben counters it with a tale of his first ‘Stein, a challenge at his school where freshman have to drink an entire beer stein filled with whiskey. 

“I could do that no problem,” Richie says. 

“I doubt it, Rich,” Ben says, leaning back in his chair and taking a swig of his beer. “I barely made it out with my life and I’m at least twice your size,”

Afternoon drifts into evening slowly, the air growing cooler as the sun sets over the horizon. The clouds turn pink and orange then purple, reflected out over the green water. Mike sees fireflies start to blink alight in the woods, and a strange sense of peace settles over them. Bill and Richie are lazily swimming in the lake, floating on their backs and talking quietly. Eddie and Stan are deep into a discussion about their business courses, comparing and contrasting, and Mike and Ben have been talking music for the past few minutes. Beverly leans forward, striking a match on the side of the cooler to light a cigarette. 

“We better head for the hills,” she muses, watching the sun dip below the trees. She’s got the smoke held lazily between her two fingers and she brings it back up to take another drag before speaking again. “It’s getting dark,” 

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna mosey up and get a fire going,” Ben agrees, turning to her. “Before we get too tipsy and I end up setting Richie alight,” He snaps the cooler closed, standing from his seat. He starts to pack things up, sliding chairs into their carrying bags as Eddie folds their wet towels. Stanley turns the radio off, plunging them into silence, and Bill and Richie look up. 

“We heading back?” Bill calls, and Mike nods. He stuffs his feet into his boots, sand sticking to his soles, and then he gathers up his and Bill’s chairs, throwing them over his shoulder. Bill and Richie make their way to shore, splashing one another and Mike tosses them both a semi-dry towel. Richie ties his around his waist, sliding his feet back into his converse and leaving them untied. Bill tries to dry off, patting himself down with the towel and then he too is stuffing his feet into his shoes. 

Stan leads the way, his radio in the crook of his arm and a chair slung over his shoulder. The walk back up to the cabin is full of laughter and horsing around, the beer heavy in Mike’s stomach. Richie tries to challenge them all to a race, skipping ahead a few steps and taunting Bill and Eddie over his shoulder, but the combination of the alcohol and the swimming has tired them out, made them lethargic. 

By the time they finally reach the cabin, Mike is shivering from the cold. Richie and Eddie take the chairs around back to set them up near the fire pit, and Mike follows Bill and Stan inside the cabin, flipping on lamps as they go until the warm light glows out the picture window and into the backyard. 

They all change out of their swimsuits, Bill and Stan and Mike each facing separate corners of the room, and Mike shrugs into a warm flannel shirt along with his jeans from earlier in the day. His skin smells damp, like river water, and his clothes stick to him from the lingering film, but Mike doesn’t mind all that much. When he’s dressed he turns slowly, eyes to the floor in case Bill and Stan aren’t covered yet, but they’re faster than him. 

By the time they’re all dressed and have gathered around dinner supplies, Mike can see the beginnings of a fire through the living room window.

Ben builds a fire with the kind of care only a former boy scout possesses, and he blushes when Richie claps a hand on his back and declares it _ a fine good job old chap, if I should say so myself _ in the Britsh Gentleman voice. They’re all bundled up against the cool nighttime air, sweatshirts and thicks socks on. The fire is bright and throws flickering flame against the shade of the trees, and when Mike looks up he sees hundreds of thousands of stars twinkling in the sky. 

They lay out dinner ingredients on the picnic table, bags of chips and hotdog buns and bottles of condiments. Ben has a twenty four pack of beer in the trunk of the car and he adds it to the melting ice of the cooler, urging everyone to take a bottle of water too. Mike feels a little dehydrated himself, sun-kissed and lazy, and he downs a water in three big gulps. Then he steals one more beer, shaking the condensation off his hand and popping the tab open. He takes a few sips as Stan slices open two packages of kosher hotdogs.

Once Ben deems the fire hot enough to cook over, Stan hands out tiny pitchforks and they all take turns skewering hotdogs, crowding in a circle around the fire to grill them. It takes longer than Mike expected, and he can tell Richie is impatient with the way he just sticks his directly into the hot coals near the bottom of the wood pile. It chars them immediately, and Eddie bitches as Richie brings the skewer up to his face to blow out the fire on his hotdogs. 

“There’s no way those got to an internal temperature of one hundred and forty degrees!” Eddie exclaims, but there’s no edge to it. In fact, Mike thinks he may be slurring just a bit, especially considering he keeps swaying on his feet between Bill and Stan. 

“You’re wasted, Eds,” Richie laughs as he builds himself two heaping dogs, soaking the buns in relish and ketchup and mustard. 

“Am not!” Eddie argues, and they all laugh at his wide-eyed scandalized expression. The effect of his surprise is dulled by the way he immediately giggles and almost pitches over. Bill has to help Eddie get his hotdogs onto buns, holding the plate steady as Eddie waves the hot stick around, Stan hovering worriedly over his shoulder. Mike gets his own built and sits down heavily at the picnic table. 

After they eat, huddled together around the fire in a circle, Beverly offers to haul the leftovers inside. When she returns, a throw blanket draped over her shoulders, she holds up a bottle of rum like it’s a trophy. 

“Let’s keep drinking!” she exclaims, and they all cheer. Mike feels less drunk since getting some food in his stomach, but he isn’t sure it’s such a good idea to start hitting the hard stuff. He seems to be the only one who thinks so, because Stan is grabbing cups out of a plastic bag and passing one around to each of them. 

They get deliciously drunk, passing the bottle back and forth across the fire, swapping party stories from college. Mike grimaces when he takes a pull straight from the bottle, washing it down with a healthy swig of pepsi, but the warmth as it flows down his throat warms him all the way to his toes. There’s a bag of popcorn going around the circle too, along with the final crumbs of a box of cheez-its. 

“So, Mikey,” Richie says in a lull of silence, leaning forward on the log he’s sharing with Bill. He has his elbows balanced on his knees and he grins when Mike raises an eyebrow in response. “Hooked up with any townies now that you’re graduated?”

“That’s disgusting dude,” Eddie slurs, and Mike flushes. 

“It’s an honest question! Mike’s too hot to not be tapping some girl-- or boy-- who just moved to town! Someone’s gotta give her the ol’ Derry tour, it might as well be our boy!” Richie argues, and Stan throws a piece of popcorn across the fire at him. It bounces off Richie’s glasses and he looks shocked at Stan, like he’s surprised he’s getting abused. 

“No, Richie,” Mike says finally, when he has his blush under control, “I haven’t been hooking up with any townies,” 

“We can change that if you want,” Richie offers, wiggling his eyebrows, and then Mike’s the one throwing popcorn at him. 

“You offering, Rich?” Mike says playfully back, and the air changes. The rum has made him loose lipped and warm, and he regrets his words the moment he lets them out. Richie gapes at him, mouth dropped open, and his recovery time is too slow. Beverly and Ben have already dissolved into drunken giggles, leaning into one another, and the rest of them follow suit, laughing at Richie’s gobsmacked expression. 

“I’d love to see that,” Eddie mutters to himself as they laugh, but Mike is close enough to hear and his cheeks heat once more. 

“Let’s play spin the bottle!” Richie exclaims suddenly, nearly tipping over his own drink cup in his haste to jump to his feet. It’s an obvious distraction, a change of subject, but Mike isn’t sure this is the best idea. Bill and Stan laugh as Beverly boos, tossing Richie a thumbs down. 

“We’re too old for that shit, Rick,” she says, but Richie has already plucked an empty beer bottle from their trash bag and set it in the middle of the picnic table. “What is this, middle school?”

“Come on,” Richie says, sitting down at the table. He snaps his fingers at Bill. “Hey, Billy, bring my drink over with you,” 

“Fuck off Tozier,” Bill responds, but he gets to his feet and grabs Richie’s cup, walking on slightly unsteady feet over to plop himself down next to Richie at the table. 

“I feel like I missed out on a true childhood experience by never getting to play spin the bottle,” Richie explains as he twirls the bottle on the table with one finger. “Indulge me,” he begs, and then he’s making direct eye contact with Mike and pouting. Mike wonders if Richie noticed him checking his body out earlier, cause he’s really laying it on heavy now. It’s a weird feeling, to be flirted with so obviously, but Mike doesn’t exactly hate it. In fact, he kind of likes the heated and heavy look that Richie gives him as he gets to his feet and walks over to them, especially because there’s a twin fever in Bill’s eyes too. 

It’s a strange set-up, Mike thinks, them playing spin the bottle when there’s only one girl in the group, but it doesn’t feel _ wrong _. In fact, as Mike slides onto the stool on Bill’s other side, he thinks it makes sense for them to play this. It might be the alcohol talking, but Mike doesn’t find the concept of kissing anyone in their group to be weird. He thinks it would be as easy as breathing, like falling asleep. 

Richie spins first of course, whooping when the bottle comes to a stop in front of Ben. 

“Get over here, loverboy,” Richie taunts, standing and leaning across the table to grab the collar of Ben’s flannel and pull him in. They peck fairly chastely, even though Mike’s pretty sure he catches Richie try to slip in some tongue, and then they’re sitting down just as quickly as it started. Ben goes then, leaning over to grab the bottle. He spins it too forcefully and it takes a while to slow, the anticipation brewing in all of them. It finally lands on Bill, who laughs. His eyes crinkle when he smiles, Mike notices, and now that he’s this close he can see freckles on Bill’s nose from their afternoon spent in the sun. He’s so caught up in wondering if Bill’s shoulders and chest are freckled too that he misses Ben and Bill’s kiss. He doesn’t even notice it’s over until Bill is sitting back down heavily next to him and grabbing the beer bottle. 

Eddie colors prettily when the bottle lands on him, his cheeks already flushed enough from the alcohol. 

“Cute!” Richie shouts, pinching Eddie’s pink cheek, and Eddie slaps his hand away before standing and balancing both his hands on the table. Bill’s thigh brushes against Mike as he stands, rubbing his palms over his jeans, and Mike vows not to miss this one. 

“This ok, Eds?” Bill asks, ever the gentleman, cupping the side of Eddie’s face with one of his hands. Eddie nods, his brown eyes big and wide, and then Bill is leaning in ever-so-slowly. Eddie’s eyes are open when they make contact and they flutter closed gently as Bill tilts his head to the side and presses his mouth to Eddie’s. They’re pretty still, just a small shift as Bill takes Eddie’s lower lip into his mouth, and Mike feels hot all over watching them. 

It’s over quicker than Mike wants, considering he only has a moment to school his expression into something cooler before one of the others catches him gawking. He snaps his mouth closed as Eddie and Bill both sit down. Eddie’s eyes are half-lidded, his lips pink and his mouth open, and Mike watches as he blinks dazedly before moving his hand to take his own turn. The bottle spins around and around and Mike holds his breath. He thinks distantly it's probably weird to want to kiss your best friend this badly, but he can't focus on that thought when the bottle is coming to a rest in front of him. Richie cheers, punching Stan in the arm in his excitement, and Mike meets Eddie's eye from across the table. The boy is blushing, his curls falling down into his eyes, and Mike thanks whatever God is up there that the bottle chose him. He stands, bracing himself on the table, and Eddie's hand runs up his arm to grip his shoulder. Mike has to duck his head down to capture Eddie's lips, and he lets his eyes flutter closed as they meet. 

Eddie tastes like rum and chocolate, probably from the smores they ate earlier. He kisses tentatively, like he’s afraid Mike’s going to pull away at any minute, and Mike thinks that’s wrong. He wants Eddie to feel comfortable, to feel wanted, so he breathes in through his nose and presses firmer into Eddie, moving his lips. Eddie sighs into his mouth, melting into the kiss, and Mike can hear faint catcalls behind them but he can’t think of anything other than Eddie’s hand on his shoulder and the faint bit of tongue pressing against his lower lip. Then the image of Bill and Eddie kissing works its way into Mike’s brain and the kiss has a different edge to it suddenly. Mike wonders if he’s tasting any bit of Bill still on Eddie’s mouth, and the thought makes him shiver.

They break apart almost apologetically, like they were just getting started, and Mike looks around the group as he sits back down. Richie is doubled over laughing, his stupid glasses slipping off his nose, and Beverly and Ben are whispering to one another. Stan takes another large gulp of his drink, and then Mike’s looking to his right and meeting Bill’s eyes.

Bill is staring at him wide-eyed, blue flashing in the moonlight, and Mike watches as his eyes drop down to Mike’s lips and then back up after a split second. Mike feels raw and open, his lips still warm from Eddie, and he has to look away. Bill’s thigh is hot next to his and Mike tries not to think too hard about the heat oozing into his jeans. 

“Spin, Mikey,” Stan urges, and Mike takes a sip from his cup for courage before he does so. He’s almost afraid to watch where it lands, hoping to god it’s someone safe like Beverly or even Stan himself, but fate has no such luck in store for him tonight. The bottle slows to a stop in front of Bill and Mike’s heart is in his throat. 

He turns, and Bill’s eyes are already on his mouth again. Mike watches as Bill slowly licks his own lip, maybe unconsciously, and then he’s flicking his eyes up to Mike’s. 

“You r-ready?” Bill breathes, and Mike leans in before he can think better of it. 

Bill is a much different kisser than Eddie. He’s slow and almost lazy about it, but still in control. He tilts his head and slots their mouths together confidently, like he’s sure Mike isn’t going anywhere. Mike tries to get his breathing under control, his hands slightly shaking at his side, and then Bill is sliding a hand up to cup Mike’s cheek. His palm is warm, a little sweaty, but it feels right. It feels natural. Mike tilts his head into Bill’s hand, his forehead shifting against Bill’s, and then he drops his mouth open just enough to let Bill’s tongue slide against his own. It’s slowly growing into the hottest kiss Mike’s ever had, and he never wants it to end. He should feel embarrassed sharing such an intimate moment with the rest of them, but he can’t find it in him to care what any of them think of him when he’s got Bill licking into his mouth. 

“Jesus Christ, you guys,” Richie says, and Mike breaks apart from Bill reluctantly. “Get a room!” He and Bill grin sheepishly at one another, avoiding the eyes of the rest of the group, and Mike feels Bill squeeze his thigh under the table. The touch makes Mike’s stomach clench, and he wills himself not to get aroused when he’s at a table surrounded by all his friends. Bill grins at him, private, and then he’s spinning the bottle for his own turn. 

Bill gets Beverly, who gets Stanley, who gets Richie. It goes around and around in a circle like that for a while, and Mike gets to share kisses with everyone eventually. Richie is enthusiastic and sloppy, pushing his tongue between Mike’s lips and licking over his teeth. It isn’t bad, per se, just not Mike’s style. Stanley is dominating, his hand on the back of Mike’s head and his fingers tightening in Mike’s curls. Ben is tentative, sort of like Eddie but a little more practiced. He smells great, like expensive cologne, and Mike can’t help but smile against his mouth. Beverly is soft and inviting, her hair brushing Mike’s cheek, and he can cup her entire face in just one hand. 

Mike can’t get Bill out of his head though. No matter how many hot kisses he shares, he still is stuck on the feel of Bill against his body. It’s a magnetic pull, the energy between them, and even when Bill kisses Richie, he’s looking at Mike out of the corner of his eye. It’s intoxicating, knowing Bill is perhaps feeling the same level of want as Mike is, and he desperately pushes the realization that they have to share a bed tonight after all of this far out of his mind. If he thinks about it too much he might have to drink himself into a coma. 

As time goes on everything gets a little sloppier, with Eddie tipping his drink over the surface of the table and soaking everyone at one point. Richie licks all the way from Beverly’s neck up to her ear, blowing on it and laughing when she pushes him away forcefully. Ben dips Stanley like a movie star, holding his entire weight up with just an arm under his back, and Mike laughs as Stan flushes from head to toe. Mike’s not sure who’s turn it even is anymore when Ben slips a hand in Bill’s hair and kisses him. Bill’s back is to Mike and he can see it when Ben tightens his fingers in the locks at the back of Bill’s head and he’s close enough to hear the slight groan that Bill lets out. 

It’s truly disgusting how easy it is for them to forget the game. Richie stands to get more rum from the bottle by the fire and Eddie follows him, pushing Richie down onto one of the logs and climbing into his lap. Mike looks away when Richie starts petting down Eddie’s back, closer and closer to full-on just grabbing his ass. Stanley and Beverly go at it for a while then too, Ben watching them from Bev’s side, and then Stan is beckoning Ben toward them too with a curled pointer finger. Mike is starting to feel like a sixth wheel when Bill stands from the picnic table quickly, knocking over his own empty cup. Mike looks up at him and Bill steps out from the bench, dusting off his pants. 

“I think I’m gonna huh-head in,” Bill says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He gestures toward the house and Mike nods. He’s not disappointed by this turn of events, but he does feel a little lonely at the thought of Bill leaving him out here with all of them. It was silly to get his hopes up anyway, Mike knows that, but there was a small part of him that really believed Bill saw the spark between them too. 

“Okay,” Mike says, and Bill lets out a long suffering sigh. 

“You’re c-coming too,” Bill phrases it like a command, but there’s an upturn in the inflection at the end that makes Mike think Bill is feeling just as nervous as he is. He holds out a hand to Mike and Mike hesitates a second before taking it, sliding his fingers to interlock with Bill’s. Bill tugs him up the hill and around to the front door, their shoes sliding on the grass. Mike giggles as Bill climbs the stairs two at a time, forcing Mike to jog to keep up with him. 

The cabin is warm, the lamps still lit and casting a yellow glow over the living area. Bill bypasses the kitchen and pulls Mike straight down the hallway, all the way to the end where their room is. Mike trips over his own boots as he kicks them off and he laughs when Bill sweeps an arm over the bed and all their stuff goes crashing to the ground. 

“Oh shit,” Bill says, looking down at his overturned backpack, “ My walkman was in there,”

  
“It’s sturdy,” Mike offers as a weak comfort, and Bill barks out a laugh. Then he’s stepping forward to slide his hands over Mike’s shoulders to grip the collar of his shirt. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, leaning into Mike’s space. His breath blows over Mike’s lips and Mike nods, dipping his eyes to watch Bill’s lips. They’re parted, just a little chapped from the cold air, and Bill nods too before he kisses Mike once more. 

Mike shifts, his hands on Bill’s waist, and tries to push Bill down onto the bed. The other boy gets the picture, tipping himself back to flop onto the mattress, and Mike forgot how dusty it was earlier. Bill kicks up a big cloud of it and Mike laughs even as he coughs, waving his hand in front of his face to disperse the particles. Bill grins as he grabs Mike’s collar again, pulling him down on top of himself. Mike tries to land gingerly, keeping most of his weight on his hands and his knees, but Bill pulls his body close to his own. He keeps one hand on Mike’s collar but slides the other around to cup the back of Mike’s neck, steadying him and keeping him right where he wants him. 

They make out for what feels like hours, tongues sliding together. Bill’s thighs tip open further, causing Mike’s hips to rock down into his own, and Mike jerks at how good the rolling motion feels. He’s been at a state of low-level arousal ever since he kissed Eddie, but Bill’s body hot against his has him hard as a rock and the friction that Bill causes every time he shifts his hips is going to send Mike over the edge. 

Mike’s just about to lean back and shuck his shirt off when there’s a sound down the hall. It’s a loud bang, like the front door clapping open, and Mike sits back on his heels. It’s silent for a moment and then he hears a very loud and dramatic shush, which definitely comes from Eddie. There’s a commotion as what sounds like a herd of laughing elephants start thundering down the hall, and Mike rolls over off of Bill. It’s not that he’s ashamed of what they’re doing, it’s just that he doesn’t want their friends to see him with a full hard-on. He slides under the blanket, helping Bill do the same, and then the door to their room is being kicked open. The bedside lamp is on and Mike can see Richie and Eddie in the doorway, Stan held up between them. 

“Don’t let us stop you,” Richie slurs, gesturing to them. Mike is very pointedly not looking at Bill, and he pulls the covers up further to his chest, trying to cover himself even though he’s still fully clothed. “We’re just dropping off a very wasted Stanny-boy,”

“Is he okay?” Bill asks, and his voice is a little rough around the edges. 

“He had a few too many,” Eddie admits. He seems to have sobered up considerably since Mike saw him last, and he wonders if it has anything to do with the three hickeys that Mike can see just beyond the collar of his shirt. “But as long as he drinks some water I think he’ll be okay,” 

“We’ll take care of him,” Mike promises, and stands to help Richie get Stan into his bed. The apperance of the other boys has dulled his arousal and Mike doesn’t even feel the need to cover himself as he flips the covers up and slides out of bed. Eddie wiggles his arm out from under Stan’s armpit and Mike grabs hold of his waist, settling him down gently on his bed. The air mattress has lost a little of its air since Stan blew it up this morning, but Mike figures he’s gonna pass out hard enough that it won’t matter. Bill leaves to get him a glass of water and Mike shoos Eddie and Richie off to their own room, ignoring Richie’s wolf-whistles. 

“Please tell me you’re gonna tap that,” Richie loudly whispers, head poking around the side of the doorframe. Mike can hear Bill’s steps coming down the hall and he just shoves Richie out the door with a hand pressed directly in the middle of his face. 

Bill returns as Richie is cackling off down the hall and he and Mike both crouch to shake Stanley awake long enough to chug half the water. Stan doesn’t even complain when he dribbles over his polo, he just giggles and pats Bill’s face and then he falls back against his pillow. Mike stifles a laugh as Bill tugs the blankets up to Stan’s chin, tucking it under the sides of his body so he doesn’t get cold in the night. 

“They’re so sweet when they’re asleep,” Mike jokes, hitting his shoulder against Bill’s.

“S-shut up,” Bill laughs. He stands, pushing off on his knees, and then he offers out a hand to help Mike to his feet. Mike takes it, letting Bill pull him up, and then they’re standing chest to chest. Bill’s eyes flick to the bed real quick, almost unconsciously, and Mike similarly cuts a look down to Stan’s sleeping form. 

“I’d love to c-continue this,” Bill starts just as Mike is opening his mouth to speak.

“Maybe we should—” Mike interrupts and then they’re both laughing awkwardly again. 

“Maybe we should save this for another time,” Bill finishes Mike’s thought, and Mike nods. There’s still a drumming in his veins; a craving to keep kissing Bill, to keep touching him under the covers, but Mike doesn’t think he could do it with Stanley sleeping not three feet away from them. 

“It’s totally cool,” Mike says, and Bill sighs, relieved. 

“Cool,” Bill echoes, and then he’s pulling Mike back to bed. He stops to pull his shirt over his head, throwing it over their pile of belongings on the ground, and then he crawls back under the covers. Mike unbuttons his flannel but leaves on his undershirt, the night air too cold for him to sleep shirtless, and he slips out of his jeans and into warm pajama pants before joining Bill under the blankets. 

It’s warm, almost too warm, and Bill scoots closer and closer until he’s wrapping an arm around Mike’s middle. He wiggles his feet in with Mike, tangling their legs together, and his toes are cold when they press into Mike’s calf. Mike feels off-balanced, too rigid, and Bill must feel it because he squeezes Mike’s chest tight and then presses a close-mouthed kiss to Mike’s shoulder, right on the material of his shirt.

“Goodnight, Mikey,” Bill says, voice low and sweet. Mike can feel himself drift into relaxation, his breathing evening out and his eyelids growing heavy. 

“Goodnight,” Mike responds, and then he lets his eyes slip closed. Stanley is snoring softly from the ground next to them, and Mike wishes him a goodnight as well. Bill shifts one last time, his hair brushing Mike’s shoulder, and then is still.

Mike falls asleep almost immediately, his body warm and flushed, Bill at his side. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr @cryingbilldenbrough


End file.
